Breathe
by Wayward-Assbutt
Summary: Tony Stark is always wearing masks, he hid behind the jokers mask, painted with sarcasm and mockery. Very view things can make him lower that mask, but when something does, the mask doesn't just lower, it falls. Angst/team-building/non-slash
1. Breathe 2am

_Life's like an hourglass, glued to the table  
No one can find the rewind button  
So cradle your head in your hands  
And breathe... just breathe__  
~*~*~_

"You threw a car into a school bus!" Steve yelled at a seemingly unaffected Tony who sat on a couch drinking scotch.

"Can you move? My cars racing"

Steve crossed his muscular arms over his chest, still not moving. Tony stood up and went to the bar, pouring himself more alcohol. He stayed up because he got a better view this way. Steve grimaced even heavier then spoke words he would soon come to regret.

"At least Howard would show at least a little remorse,"

Tony's eyes darkened considerably at those words, and yet he began walking calmly towards Steve as if he didn't have a care in the world. In the same manner he clenched his fist and delivered a swift right hook to Steve's jaw, making him stumble back a couple of steps.

"Don't even speak about my father," Tony hissed in his face before walking out of the room, anger clear in his stride.

The Stark family mansion had always been large and expansive, but now that it had become the Avengers Mansion and housed some of the earths greatest heroes it had become even larger. It was still empty though, at least in Tony's mind. Half the rooms where left unoccupied, but that wasn't the reason it was empty, no, the house was still filled with ghosts in Tony's mind. There was really only one thing Tony liked about it; how easy you could hide.

All throughout his childhood Tony had found the best hiding spots throughout the whole house. In the security control room used to be his favourite. His mother never figured out that hiding spot. She had found nearly all his others, in the bathrooms, workshops, but now the house was renovated Tony had found numerous different hiding spots.

This time he was in his old room. Well, one of his old rooms. There was the one he had stayed in until he was twelve, and the one he stayed in until he left for university. His childhood room was at the very end of the second floor and was large and still slightly messy. Posters and photos where on the walls, press photos and family ones alike. Even some of his Captain America stuff was still stuffed in the closet.

"If he really knew…." Tony muttered under his breath, shaking out his hand to relieve the pain.

Steve had a lot to learn about Tony. His coping mechanism wasn't to cry or mope, it was to act normal and down some scotch. Stark men are born with iron in their backbones, his father always used to say. If you have a problem you wash it down with scotch.

"_You're a good for nothing spoiled little-"he_ smashed the glass onto the floor, watching as it shattered and tinkled across the floor.

Standing up he paced his room, glaring at the picture of his father at a Stark Expo. Ripping it off the wall he watched as that to shattered on the floor. His father (would he even go as far to call him father) was cold and uncaring. He bet he considered his only son a mistake.

"Bullshit I was his greatest creation," He muttered, stamping his foot onto the already mangled photo.

Rubbing his knuckles he resisted the urge to punch something. Why didn't people understand? He wasn't his father and he never would be. He would never become as cold as he did, and if he did marry Pepper he certainly wouldn't brush her off for work and leave his potential children alone to despise him. People always tend to think just because they're nice to the public they had to be nice all the time.

"Wouldn't know nice if it hit him in the face," Tony gave the photo one final stamp before beginning to look for something else to destroy, but a sudden flash of white caught his eye. Casting a glance back down at the glass strewn floor he bent to pick up whatever it was.

His surprise was large when he found it was a letter, slightly yellow from age. Written across its wrinkle back was one word.

_Tony_

The writing was neat and elegant, and the _y _had a slight twist at the end. His mother always wrote her _y_'s like that. He moved to his bed and sat down on the covers, sending dust flying up but he ignored it and stared at the letter. His mother had never been the secretive type.

Tearing the end off he slipped the letter out, surprised to find an old polaroid as well. Looking at it he gave a thin smile at the sight of it. His tenth birthday. His younger self was smiling and covered in cake, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. He laughed bitterly at what he was now. Next to him was a smiling Maria, gorgeous brown hair topped with a birthday hat. That birthday had started out good, but then it had gone down hill. Howard had been called into work and Maria didn't like it. They where going to head out for dinner as a family to celebrate his birthday. Yelling had followed and after five minutes Tony had heard enough and rushed up to his room, slamming the door in the process.

Oh, the childhood memories.

He looked at the letter. Unfolding it he saw the stationary was from his mothers personal desk stationary. Her writing at the beginning was neat and perfect, but then became wobbly and nearly illegible. What seemed like tear drops marred the page.

_Dear Tony,_

_I know you're only fifteen, and there's probably a lot of things you don't understand at the moment, but by the time you find this (if you ever do) you'll be grown and more understanding. The reason I'm writing this is because I want you to know that we both love you so much. If I tried to tell you in person I know you'd just try to brush me off. I know you don't like your father, even I at the best of times find his behaviour a little annoying, but you have to know he loves you. You are his pride and joy, he may not show it, but you are his greatest creation. When he got your M.I.T acceptance letter he looked about ready to dance._

_I'm not lying, and I know you must think I am. You need to understand your father works a lot, he has a lot of people who depend on him to get things done. Work puts a lot of stress on him, he's always in the public eye. He'll come to realise you're more important one day Tony, I promise. _

_You're probably a grown man now, and I'm probably old and grey. I know things won't have changed, you'll still be the charming young man you are today._

_We're so proud of you, who else can say their son built a motherboard when he was four? Or a fully functional robot when he was only a pre-teen? You're a lovely boy, smart and handsome, no one could wish for a better son. I don't want you to believe anyone else who tells you otherwise._

_You're destined for great things Tony._

_With love,_

_Mom_

Tony stared at the letter dumbfounded. His mother had written this before he left for M.I.T and he was only finding it now? Why did she put it in his old room? Why did she even write it? Dumping the letter on the bed he rested his head in his hands and stared at the floor.

His mother had been right about one thing. He wouldn't have listened to her if she tried to say it in person. When he was fifteen the only thing he wanted to do was leave the godforsaken mansion. By fifteen he was sick of everything, sick of hearing his parents argue at night despite the size of the house, sick of staying up at night and wondering if anything was worth it.

He re-read the last line again and snorted. What great things had he achieved? His weapons had killed probably hundreds of people, he had slept with countless women that he couldn't even remember the names of, and most likely broken over a hundred laws.

He stood up and punched the wall angrily, not caring for the pain it caused. Now he was a failure in more then his fathers eyes. He hadn't become something to be proud of. His S.H.I.E.L.D file was filled with all the magazine and newspaper clippings of his exploits, and his failures. Apparently his was the thickest files out of all the Avengers.

"Tony?"

"What?" He snapped without looking towards the doorway "come to yell at me some more Rogers?"

"I'm not Steve," Tony turned to see Bruce leaning on the doorway "nice room, guessing it's yours,"

"I'm not in the mood for a talk, Bruce," Tony ground out, flexing his hands but causing pain to shoot up through it. Nursing it to his chest he sat down on his bed.

"Let me take a look at it," Bruce began walking in, eyes doing a damage evaluation.

"I have several PhD's Bruce, I think I can take care of it myself," Tony snapped at his friend who didn't seem at all abashed.

Bruce just sat down on the bed and pulled Tony's hand into his range, poking and prodding the area. Tony remained silent, eyes trained on the letter on the floor.

"Steve says he sorry," Bruce let go of Tony's hand "I think you fractured something,"

"I don't care," Tony said dully, placing his hand on his lap and continuing to stare at the letter.

Bruce seemed to find out what he was staring at and he picked it up, skimming over what was written. He then set the letter down and sat in silence next to Tony, as if waiting for the man to speak.

Tony cradled his head in his hand told himself to breath. This was a side of him that only Pepper had seen. He was prone to mood swings and bursts of anger, due to his always changing thoughts, but usually he kept it inside and burst later, away from prying eyes. He hated being weak in front of others, he always had to be strong. Hell, even when Coulson died he didn't let his true emotions show. What he hated most of all was pity.

"You didn't bring any scotch did you?" Tony questioned finally.

"No," Bruce stared at the wall "are you okay?"

"Dandy," Tony muttered.

"I'll listen if you want to talk about it,"

"It isn't that interesting." Tony grabbed the letter and folded it up with upmost care before sliding it back into the envelope. He spared a glance at the polaroid before putting it back in the envelope "besides I have a bottle of scotch with my name on it,"

"It isn't good to keep it inside, trust me, I know," Bruce gave a small thin smile.

"I let it out Bruce, look around," he gestured around him with one hand.

"Tony," the man in question spun on his heel, coming face to face with the Captain who had a cool and collected Clint behind him.

"Don't want to hear it Rogers," Tony muttered, trying to get past the super solider.

"Told you," Clint muttered behind Steve.

Steve seemed to steel himself while Tony just crossed his arms the best he could, making his stance obvious. It was bad enough Bruce witnessed the slip in his mask, he didn't need the rest of the team finding out. Tony always considered himself a little outside of the Avengers. He was out for work most of the time, and even though they lived in his mansion, and he was kind(-ish) and smiled at them, he still found he didn't exactly belong.

"You're not Howard, it's wrong for me to compare you to him," Steve said finally.

"Whatever Steve," Tony muttered "we all know you'll never stop comparing me to him,"

Tony squeezed through the doorway.

"So let's just cut the bullshit," Tony finished as he began heading down the hall. "Are you going to take a look at this hand or not, Banner?" he called down the hall.

The mask was already slipped back into place. He should've never let it slip in the first place. His problems where his own and he'd be damned if he let anyone else find out all his hidden misery. If he made it a small deal, everyone else would. After all, big things are just small things that have been noticed.

_*~*~*~  
There's a light at each end of this tunnel,  
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out  
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again  
If you'd only try turning around._


	2. After The Storm

_Well I guess I'll just go home,  
Oh God knows where.  
Because death is just so full and man so small.  
Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before._

Tony glared at the box with as much defiance as he could. The alcohol in his system wasn't helping his glaring ability, or his thinking ability…or anything for that matter. His hand still throbbed with fresh pain, his heart still ached with re-opened wounds, and his mind screamed out in agony every time he contemplated something. The thing he was currently contemplating was so painful that not even bottles of scotch could help him.

_Proof that Tony Stark has a heart_ the machine inside the box read.

No, Tony Stark didn't have a heart. To have a heart you had to care, you had to compassionate, and what was his filled with? Right, nothing. Despite what the newspapers and magazines said, he was nothing. He wasn't a multi-billionaire, he wasn't a genius or the forefront in engineering, he was just a man without a heart who hid behind his mask of sarcasm and mockery.

People say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, if it is even wit at all, but Tony disagrees. Sarcasm is a defence, the last line even. You use it to draw others to you, while still distraction them from the real you. The people who have mastered the art of sarcasm know how strong a mask painted with it can be. The problem was not letting the mask slip.

Tony's mask had slipped already, but now it was falling. That letter from his mother had set off emotions that lay dormant for years. Hate, self loathing, disgust….all those things that lurked in the back of his mind, but now they where out in the open, taking advantage of the fallen cover.

Tony had always loved his mother. She had been his light at the end of the tunnel, always there to offer soothing words and encouragement, to explain why his father didn't care for him and why he had to do things a certain way. The letter had said she was proud of her son, but Tony knew the son that she used to know was gone. The son that she used to know hadn't killed thousands of people or killed her best friend, the son that she used to know was a slightly reckless boy of seventeen who liked to have some fun now and then.

"Proof that Tony Stark has a heart," Tony said with a drunken slur "what fucking heart?"

He grabbed the box and threw it to the ground, watching as it shattered. The reactor inside bounced and cracked on the floor, staring up at him mockingly. In a fit of rage he smashed his foot down upon it, watching as the tiny inner workings of it began to spill out across the floor, like some demented type of blood.

"Now that looks more like it," Tony slurred as he wobbled into a seat.

His heart was a tangled and broken piece of machinery. It was like it was only there to give him life and nothing else. But like that old arc reactor, his heart was slowly poisoning his body and mind, tricking him, playing him. Telling him everything was okay, while nothing was. Convincing him to continue when all he wanted to do was stop.

His mind was the practical part of his body, like a computer, programed with what to do. But someone had put a virus in his head, made his thoughts faster, less coherent, while still managing to make it play tricks. Occasionally his brain would slow down and try to process the information that had been pushed onto him in the onslaught, but most of the time it crashed, and it took scotch to restart it.

Scotch was like the oil for his machine like mind and heart. It made sure the pieces moved smoothly and didn't grind together painfully. Without the scotch life was slow and painful. No one understood that, though he supposed no one had tried. Pepper was just resting on the surface of a gold mine of emotions that begged to be pulled out of the dark area from whence it was created.

"Here's to you, mum," Tony raised the bottle to the sky with a sarcastic smirk before taking a swallow of the fiery liquid.

Grown and matured he drank from the bottle like a child drank from a mother's tit, desperate and weak.

So much for being the infamous Tony Stark who didn't give a rats arse about anything. Here he was falling apart all because of a stupid letter.

"Tony," he swung around in chair to find a sleepy looking Captain America in the doorway.

"Capsicle," Tony returned with a sarcastic raise of the scotch bottle "I would stand to attention, but I'm afraid that if I do I'll fall over,"

Steve didn't crack a smile at Tony's blatant joke, but instead just walked into the lab, baby blue eyes taking in the smashed heap of metal on the floor and empty scotch bottles.

"Jarvis said you alcohol levels getting dangerously high," Steve ran a hand through his hair as he gazed down at Tony.

"Traitor," Tony slurred.

"I would prefer not having to deal with Miss Potts if the matter got out of hand," The AI responded with a hint of sarcasm.

"Is this because of what I said today?" Steve questioned, watching as Tony attempted to get off the chair, but instead ended up falling into a graceless heap on the floor.

"Nope," Tony smiled up at him "sit, Steven, sit,"

Steve sighed but still sat down anyway. Even sitting down he was still taller then Tony, making him scowl slightly. The good natured Captain took the bottle out of Tony's lax grip, and put it on a bench out of reach.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Steve questioned with a confused sigh.

"Because it's fun," Tony lied straight through his teeth.

"You call this fun?" Steve asked, gesturing to his friends current position.

"It helps me think," Tony corrected.

That as well was a lie. Tony had three stages when drunk. First was stimulated, second was gleeful, and third was positively wasted. At the moment he was past the positively wasted stage.

"Let's get you up to bed," Steve stood up and offered a hand, which Tony took.

On his feet he was wobbly. His knees felt like jelly and his head felt like it had been stuffed filled with cotton balls.

"Will you tuck me in and tell me a story?" Tony asked as he swayed.

"No, it's three in the morning and I really just want to go to bed,"

Steve got one of Tony's arm around his shoulder and began the slow journey towards the elevator. Once inside it's depths Tony pushed away from the Captain and leant on the wall in a stupor. Steve then followed Tony as he began a drunken zig-zag walk towards what he guessed was the direction of his room (there where eight unoccupied rooms in the house, and Steve had no idea which one Tony slept in,)

Tony though had worked his way towards his second room, the teenager one. This of course had been cleared out as he began for M.I.T, but the blankets and some photos still remained in the large barren room. Flinging off his jacket Tony fell onto his old bed, sending up a pile of dust in the process.

"Tony," Steve said as he picked up a piece of folded paper that had fallen out of his friends pocket "why do you this to yourself?"

It was the same question as before, but this time he received an honest answer. Tony pointed at the paper in Steve's hand and muttered;

"Read it,"

And so he did. Steve had never met Maria Stark or even heard anything about her from Tony. As he read the letter he wondered what in it could make hi friend go so low. It seemed to be all praise and support. What Steve also read made him think about the Howard Stark he used to know, and if maybe he had been to quick to compare.

"I failed her," Tony said into his dusty bed cover "I'm nothing to be proud of,"

"You're a multi-billionaire super hero," Steve said slowly as he folded up the letter with the upmost care.

"I've killed thousands of people with weapons _I _created. My whole fortune is built on blood," Tony rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling.

"You changed," Steve sat down on the edge of the bed.

Tony was silent for a moment as he shut his eyes and breathed deeply, and for a moment Steve thought he had fallen asleep. But Tony soon opened his eyes and gazed at him with alcohol glazed eyes.

"I killed their best friend," he stated with a confused frown "Obadiah Stane. I let him die,"

Steve racked up what he could remember from the file Fury had given him "Stane was trying to kill you,"

"I still killed him," Tony muttered "and Yinsen,"

Steve had never read anything about a Yinsen before.

"He sacrificed himself so I could live. He made me promise him I would do something with my life…." Tony trailed off as he closed his eyes again and began breathing deeply again. It was only after Steve heard snores did he know Tony was properly asleep.

With a tired and weary sigh Steve stood up and gazed at the man he had once thought to be cold and sarcastic. He always thought Tony had it all, definitely after seeing where he grew up, but now Steve was forced to re-think things. Tony had gotten himself drunk because he thought he failed his mother, while being under the delusion he had done nothing in life.

Tony's mask had fallen, and Steve knew he couldn't let his friend put back into place.

_And now I cling to what I knew  
I saw exactly what was true  
But oh no more.  
That's why I hold,  
That's why I hold with all I have._


	3. The Cave

_Cause I need freedom now  
And I need to know how  
To live my life as it's meant to be_

Steve gazed down at the still sleeping Tony. It was odd to see him spread eagle across the musty sheets of his childhood bed because the Captain could actually imagine him as a teenager. From what he had read Tony was a genius even in his youth, the youngest person to enter MIT, youngest person to build a motorcycle, youngest person to build a motherboard….the list kept on going. In his sleep his face was relaxed and slack, his brow wasn't crinkled with worry or humor, but flat and calm like a sea before the storm.

"Tony," Steve shook his shoulder, only getting a mumble in return "Tony,"

"What?" Tony cracked open a chocolate brown eye and gazed up at the man.

"We have the appearance at the museum today," Steve said as he folded his arms over his chest, trying to act normal.

"Too hung-over," Tony mumbled as he gazed around the room "what am I doing in here?"

Last night was a blur of scotch, glass and incoherent thoughts. Guessing from the pounding of the jackhammers in his head, and the fact he was asleep in his old room, he had gotten pretty wasted. Steve looked down on him unimpressed, like a mother would look at a child who had just failed their test. Tony knew that look to well, and grabbed a pillow, shrugging it over his head to block the look.

His father had given him that look more times then he cared to share. For some reason seeing it on the perfect and flawless face of Captain America just made his head ache more. Steve shouldn't have to be giving him that look, he was a grown man who didn't need other grown men telling him what to do.

"If you don't get up I'll carry you to your room," He heard Steve say.

Tony just raised his heavy hand and flipped the symbol of freedom and pride in America off. Why did Steve always treat him like a child? Scolding him and reprimanding him? Things like that just usually bounced off his mask and fell straight to the floor where they lay and gathered dust. His defenses where sound, and he'd be damned if he let them drop.

"One," Steve said.

"You're seriously counting?" Tony groaned, pressing the pillow harder into his face.

"Two,"

Tony hated when people treated him as a child. They had no right to, he wasn't there son, nor related to him in anyway. Did Steve think just because he knew his father he could speak to Tony like this?

"Three,"

The billionaire didn't shift an inch. He did jump though as he felt Steve's strong arms wrap around his waist and hoist him off the bed. In one single trained move, Tony found himself face to face with Steve's ass. Steve began to walk and the bile began rising up into Tony's throat with every step.

"Put me down," Tony demanded, kicking into Steve's stomach.

"No," Steve walked out of the room.

"I'm going to vomit," Tony swallowed down the rising bile.

That was the magic word. Tony was set down in the hall where he sat and gathered up his strength. Over the years of drunken outings and nights Tony had become the master at holding in vomit. Not once had he been shown in a magazine or on the TV vomiting, a feat he was rather proud of.

"I hate you so much right now Steve," Tony pushed himself to his feet "Jarvis, I need whatever strongest non-prescription pain pills we have in stock,"

"Right away sir," Jarvis spoke immediately "though I must say I did warn you,"

"Good load of fuck that did," Tony stumbled down the hall to his room, Steve shadowing behind him, treating him like a toddler that was learning to walk. A swift slam of the door and Steve was locked out of his room. On the table beside his bed was a glass of water and some pills Tony couldn't recognize, not that he cared. He downed them swiftly and headed into the shower.

Like most people Tony thought in the shower. It was calm and tranquil, the perfect match for his over active mind. Taking deep breaths he leant against the cool tiles of the wall, trying to put the mask into place. It wasn't hard to do, after years of finding company in women and booze, Tony had learnt how to put that mask into the same position.

Stepping out of the shower he changed into his usual ensemble suit, and shaved in his trademark beard. A quick glance at the window clock told him it was just past eleven, and by Tony's standards that was an extremely long sleep in.

With his usual confident stride Tony walked into the lounge room with a cup of black coffee in hand. With shades on his face no one could see the dark circle under his eyes, nor the sadness that hid in their chocolate depths.

"Where's your brace?" Bruce asked straight away, looking at the still swollen hand that had been proven to have three hairline fractures.

"I burnt it," Tony stated casually as he looked at everyone's clothing, basic, and yet slightly formal "remind me what we have again today?"

Be cool, be confident, don't let them question you. That was Tony's mantra. If you weren't cool, you would loose your confidence, and without the confidence they would question you. You have to be the one to question them, keep in the conversation without making yourself the focus.

"For some reason a museum felt the need to put an exhibit on you and your suits," Natasha said casually as she filed her nails "and Steve,"

"Public appearances are important," Steve stated as he looked at Tony.

Disagree, but in a way that can be taken as insulting, yet playful.

"Not all the time, but I suppose as America's well loved Capsicle you have to make an appearance now and then," Tony placed his cup down on a table.

Perfect. Steve seemed to falter for a moment before collecting his cool.

"Cars out front," Clint commented from his position by the window.

In the car it was quieter then usual. Steve and Thor were fiddling with their phones while Bruce was giving him a crash course in what not to do. Natasha and Clint where whispering amongst themselves, obviously not wanting to be overheard because the language was fast and rapid. Tony was left alone to rapidly text through emails to those who bothered him, the words becoming a blur on the screen.

They could hear the screams of the fans from a street away. The limo stopped Tony stepped out first, hoping the pills would do their job. The screams where painfully loud, and the autographs and handshakes became a blur. Even as he cut the ribbon to the room of the displays Tony felt lost.

Sitting on a bench Tony rubbed his temples. The room was bustling with those who had been granted first access to the room. They looked at awe at the holographs of all the Iron Man suits, plans and miniature Arc Reactor behind the glass case. Teenagers and parents alike had fun firing the repulsers on display, and enjoying the flight simulator.

They all seemed so impressed by his work, coming up to talk to him, shake hands and take photos. Every single photo behind his dark sunglasses Tony had his eyes closed. Every time he shook someone's hand he felt like he didn't deserve it. Even as he spoke with a group of bubbly teenage girls he couldn't bring himself to smile truly.

They enjoyed his modern work, the things that saved lives. Tony would bet most of his fortune that if he asked them about the death toll his weapons caused, or the damage total. They didn't care for what he used to be, just what he was now. Magazines and fangirls played him off as some great hero who used his money for the better of the world, in honesty his money went towards things for himself.

"Still think you're a failure?" Steve sat down next to him.

Tony's brow crinkled as he turned to look at the soldier.

"I'm guessing this is scotch related," Tony muttered, mentally cursing himself.

"You really do need to lay off the alcohol," he jumped slightly as he watched Clint jump down from a perch.

"And you need to stop acting like a bird, Robin Hood," Tony snapped back as he rubbed his aching temples.

With a flash of red Natasha suddenly appeared, looking strikingly deadly. Bruce sauntered over out a crowd and sat on Tony's other side.

"Is this an intervention?" Tony questioned, uncomfortable with the closed in feeling.

"No," Steve said as he watched Thor stride over to the group.

Tony gazed around, trying to find a reason to escape. Unfortunately, he couldn't find one. For some reason it made him antsy being surrounded by these people, it made him feel like he should flee and hide in his lab. These people, though considered friends, still made him feel small.

"Good, I hate those," Tony tried to remain cool.

Bruce folded his arms over his chest, and Tony tried not to squirm. He had to stay cool, he had to change the focus.

"So, is this one for Thor? His addiction to pop tarts are a little unnerving," no one laughed, in fact they all seemed to be looking at him with tired, weary looks in their eyes.

"We know about the letter," Clint cut right to the chase and Tony gave him a playful smirk.

"I get million of letters a day, you might have to be a bit more specific,"

"Oh, you know the one that made you seem like a complete failure," Natasha said as she glanced around "as much as I hate to admit it, this stuff here is impressive,"

Tony felt like burying his face into his hands, but he had to keep cool. Casually crossing his arms over his chest he felt the warmth of the reactor. It always seemed to calm him, the warmth of his life line, the feeling of it's hum against his arms. Some people would find it odd to have a piece of metal in their chest, to feel it move around in their chest whenever they twisted, but to Tony it was something that brought him down to earth.

Bruce had asked him once why he didn't get operated on once he came back from Afghanistan. Tony had just shrugged and told him he liked making new fashion statements. The truth was that Tony didn't want to have it removed. He had the money and means to get it fixed, and he didn't care for the physical pain he would have to go through. What really cared for was the fact that the arc reactor made him, _him_. What he was before the arc reactor was cringe worthy, it actually made him feel physically sick. Without the arc reactor, he feared he would return to the prick he used to be.

"Did you go through my things again?" Tony questioned with a small frown "is this because I read about Budapest?"

"You hacked our files?" Clint questioned with a sharp glare.

"You sound surprised," Tony smirked, glad his eyes where hidden.

"Tony, look around and tell me what you see," Bruce said, and Tony gave a playful frown.

"A bunch of people who don't know how to mind their own business?"

"I see the most advanced pieces of mechanics ever in existence," Bruce let his eyes roam above everybody's head.

"Even on Asgard there is nothing as advanced," Thor said in agreement.

"Says the man who still says 'thou'," Tony smirked, trying hard to get the attention off himself. His problems weren't theirs, nor was his business any of theirs. They had formed to close of a circle for him to leave, and he knew he wouldn't be able to go without making a scene.

"Just because you read a letter from nearly twenty years ago you think you're useless?" Clint questioned, muscles bulging under his shirt.

"First, it's none of your business," Tony held up a finger "second, I don't think I'm useless,"

Standing up Tony unfolded his arms from his chest and quickly scanned for an exit. As if on cue, the circle tightened and Tony let a true deep frown etch its way onto his usually stony face.

"We're friends Tony, we shouldn't have to find about these things after you've finished drowning yourself in scotch," Natasha said blatantly, locking eyes with him.

"Nothing happened," Tony tried to convince his friends "I'm allowed to enjoy myself now and then,"

Bruce gave him a sad frown "Tony, just tell us,"

"Bruce, tell me, what did I used to do before I became Iron Man?" Tony questioned, instantly on defense.

If they wanted to know, he would let them. At least then he could lock himself in the lab and lock all others out, hope maybe they would forget about it. It was doubtful they would let him leave without him telling them.

"Make weapons," Bruce said confused.

"Weapons that killed thousands," Tony said each word slowly, looking each Avenger in the eye.

"You're point?" Clint asked with a raised eyebrow.

"People died because of my weapons, a man sacrificed his life so I could live, my mother thought I'd turn out to be better then Howard. They love the suits, not me," Tony stated finally, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Tony-" Steve said placing a hand on his shoulder "-people love _you_,"

"I'm nothing without the suit, Captain," Tony shrugged off his hand "even you said it. So maybe we can just cut the bull."

Squeezing through the tight circle Tony brushed off his shoulders before walking into the large group of people still in the exhibit. He made sure to get lost in the crowd, hopping his 'friends' couldn't find him. After slowing his walk he paused and gazed up at the photo of himself next to his father.

It was a Stark Expo, when Tony had gone on stage for the first time with his father. He had hated it. The crowd was two loud, the cameras to bright, the smells to strong. And yet he was still there smiling, looking as if it was the greatest thing in the world.

"They're just trying to help," Natasha slid up next to him.

"I don't need help," Tony muttered, glancing around.

"No, you don't," Natasha nodded, letting her eyes rest on a hologram of the Mark I suit "but you do need to let people in,"

"Says the super spy slash assassin who doesn't even smile," Tony cocked his head in mock confusion.

"How long do you think it took me to trust Clint?" Natasha questioned "you need to realize it doesn't matter who you where before, it matters who you are now,"

Tony just pursed his lips and nodded, not really finding comfort in her words.

"You aren't the only one who's killed people," Natasha stated "before Clint found me, I was a gun for hire,"

"It took you meeting a hot guy to change, it took me getting shrapnel blown into my chest for me to change," Tony said darkly "even then it didn't make a difference,"

"You can wallow in pity and self loathing all you want, Tony, but you're the only one who thinks you're useless here," the red headed Russian stalked away without a second glance.

Sitting down on another bench he pulled out his phone and looked at it blankly. Did it matter what others thought? Before he was kidnapped he hadn't given a fuck what others thought, he lived the high life and no one could even scratch his self confidence. But now he was open, his armor was dented and rusted.

"Excuse me, Mr Stark, sir?" Tony gazed up from the screen and looked through his tinted shades at a six year old boy who was looking very abashed. Who he supposed was his mother stood behind him, smiling kindly.

"Yes?" Tony questioned, tucking his phone away "what can I do for you?"

Tony had a soft spot for children (he would never admit it), they where innocent and pure, yet to be poisoned by the world.

"Can you please sign my book?" he held out a black book covered in all the Avenger stickers numerous different companies had put out "I have all you're names! Even Hawkeye! But you're my favorite, you're all like, pew, pew, pew!"

Tony smiled a little and pushed the glasses up onto his head, taking the book from the small hands and pulled a pen out from his pocket, flicking through the pages. Bruce had done a neat little signature, Natasha her basic initials, Clint something in messy scrawl, Thor did his name in Asgardian, while Steve signed it and sketched a little picture for him.

"So, what's your name?"

"Tony," The boy beamed brightly.

"Nice name," Tony said with a nod, scribbling down a little message.

"I want to be an inventor like you!" The boy took the book back eagerly and looked at the message "and have my own Iron Man suit, except I'd make mine blue-"

"Come one Anthony, I'm sure Mr Stark is busy enough as it is," The mother gently took the boys hand.

The child frowned before sending a cheery wave towards Tony, but the elder inventor stopped for a moment and dug around in his pockets and pulled out a single piece of red metal.

"Hey, Tony," the boy turned and looked at him with wide blue eyes "have this,"

The boy held out his hands to accept the gift. It was a shard of his suit that he must've tucked into his pocket when working. The younger Tony looked at it with confusion.

"That's a piece of my suit," Tony leaned in to explain "no one else has one of those, so keep a hold of it,"

"I will Mr Stark," The boy closed it in his hands happily "I promise!"

That child didn't care about what Tony used to be, in fact, he probably wouldn't know until he was in his teens. His love for Iron Man wouldn't change though, and the billionaire knew that. How was it that children could look up to him and see past his differences, when he couldn't?

"Come on Stark, get over it," he said to himself in a low voice.

Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe he did just have to stop looking at his past. If he didn't make a fuss of it, others wouldn't. Even as Tony walked up to his friends, he still couldn't help but feel that little gnawing sense of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Did he had a right to be happy? But Tony was a just a man, and even the best of men make mistakes.

"Still moping?" Natasha questioned with a soft glare.

"Shut up our you're not getting Shawarma,"

Tony Stark was back, but for how long was uncertain. Even the best placed masks will slip now and then, the trick was having people their to help you put it back into place.

_And I will hold on hope  
And I won't let you choke  
On the noose around your neck  
And I'll find strength in pain  
And I will change my ways  
I'll know my name as it's called again_


End file.
